e mental wretchedness and remorse
did overtake her, I know."

"How did you know it? Did you hear it?" exclaimed Lady Isabel, her
tone all too eager, had Mrs. Hare been suspicious. "Did he proclaim
that--Francis Levison? Did you hear it from him?"

Mrs. Hare, gentle Mrs. Hare, drew herself up, for the words grated on
her feelings and on her pride. Another moment, and she was mild and kind
again, for she reflected that the poor, sorrowful governess must have
spoken without thought.

"I know not what Sir Francis Levison may have chose to proclaim,"
she said, "but you may be sure he would not be allowed opportunity to
proclaim anything to me, or to any other friend of Mr. Carlyle's; nay,
I should say, nor to any of the good and honorable. I heard it from Lord
Mount Severn."

"From Lord Mount Severn?" repeated Lady Isabel. And she opened her lips
to say something more, but closed them again.

"He was here on a visit in the summer; he stayed a fortnight. Lady
Isabel was the daughter of the late earl--perhaps you may not have known
that. He--Lord Mount Severn--told me, in confidence, that he had sought
out Lady Isabel when the man, Levison, left her; he found her sick,
poor, broken-hearted, in some remote French town, utterly borne down
with remorse and repentance."

"Could it be otherwise?" sharply asked Lady Isabel.

"My dear, I have said it could not. The very thought of her deserted
children would entail it, if nothing she did. There was a baby born
abroad," added Mrs. Hare, dropping her voice, "an infant in its cradle,
Lord Mount Severn said; but that child, we knew, could only bring pain
and shame."

"True," issued from her trembling lips.

"Next came her death; and I cannot but think it was sent to her in
mercy. I trust she was prepared for it, and had made her peace with God.
When all else is taken from us, we turn to him; I hope she had learned
to find the Refuge."

"How did Mr. Carlyle receive the news of her death?" murmured Lady
Isabel, a question which had been often in her thoughts.

"I cannot tell; he made no outward sign either of satisfaction or grief.
It was too delicate a subject for any one to enter upon with him, and
most assuredly he did not enter upon it himself. After he was engaged to
my child, he told me he should never have married during Lady Isabel's
life."

"From--from--the remains of affection?"

"I should think not. I inferred it to be from conscientious scruples.
All his affec